


those who favor fire

by glitteration



Series: arms and veins and secrets [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F, Gen, canon AU, knives as gestures of affection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-06
Updated: 2018-08-06
Packaged: 2019-06-22 18:27:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15588036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glitteration/pseuds/glitteration
Summary: hold my hand; it's a long way down to the bottom of the river.( abby and echo's first conversation in the au where farm station lands near the kids and kabby+sinclair land in azgeda instead. )





	those who favor fire

**Author's Note:**

> OKAY SO long story short, this takes place in an au where Abby and Kane's station crashed in Azegeda and Farm Station landed with the group instead, so Pike is off saving the kids from the mountain and dealing with Finn drama and making eyes at Indra (and sometimes Jackson) while Abby trades her white hat for a dark grey one and Kane doesn't so much saunter vaguely downwards as board an express train.
> 
> This bit takes place about two months in, after they've caught Echo during a raid and questioned/tortured her. Abby set her free because LINGERING MORALS! (and because she was worried they might kill Echo and she's still weird about non-battlefield murder), so Marcus shocklashed her for it then confined her to quarters for three days aaaaand then this scene takes place.

Sinclair had done his very best to follow her instructions and clean her burns, but even an engineer’s delicate touch can’t replace medical experience. Abby winced and shifted on her cot, nose brushing canvas as she bit back a yelp of pain when the motion pulled at blistered skin.

A sudden rush of night air washed over her back and she sighed, inhaling deeply. The burns and the ache of overloaded muscles couldn’t hold a candle to the torture of smelling the night air outside her tent and being unable to step outside and enjoy it. The snow may not have been as welcoming as the lush green they expected would have been, but Abby couldn’t help admiring the sharp, dangerous beauty enclosing them on all sides. Each breath brought with it a bite, invigorating as the meltwater they collect each morning. If Marcus only knew how much she appreciated the landscape, Abby mused bitterly, he might have skipped the first step entirely and settled for keeping her contained to medical.

“Did you know he would do this?”

Abby jerked in surprise at the unfamiliar voice and tried to jackknife upward. Pain seared across her back, tongues of flame licking from shoulders to waist. She bit down on her fist, breathing in harsh, ragged gulps until it passed enough to gingerly shift to one side and squint into the darkness until a face resolved itself; high, proud cheekbones, eyes narrowed in consideration, a practical crown of braids wreathing her head and keeping her hair from her eyes.

“Now she speaks.” Abby felt useless, frustration boiling under her skin. “I didn’t let you go so you could come back and wind up in chains again.”

She waved off Abby’s concern. “Your people don’t watch the shadows, they won’t catch me again. Did you know?” The grounder moved closer, and Abby noted with no small amount of jealousy that she certainly didn’t look as if she’d been shocklashed herself only a day before. “That he’d…” She frowned and mimed the touch of a shock baton to her own back, lacking the word itself despite her obvious command of English.

“I knew there was a chance,” she answered after a moment; Marcus had embraced the lash as a fair alternative to death now that each productive member of their group was a precious commodity, but she hadn’t been quite able to believe he’d do it to _her_.

Having this kind of conversation laying down felt unbearably vulnerable. It rankled at her pride and Abby pushed up onto one elbow and placed her palm flat, readying herself for the pain of trying to sit up only to find the grounder kneeling before her, hands raised in an offer of assistance.

She stiffened, heart beating a little faster at their proximity, but allowed the help up. “Thank you.”

“You knew he might hurt you,” the grounder persisted, mouth set in a stubborn frown as she settled back onto her knees to stare at Abby. “It was a foolish choice. I could have killed you.”

“Now you sound like Marcus.”

The woman snorted in derision, her disdain for the comparison clear. “He’s a fool, too, but in this case he was right.” She let out a short, loud breath. “Most of my people would have done it.”

“Well, then, it’s a good thing they weren’t here and you were.”

An odd intensity crossed her face. “I’m your enemy. Why would you let him hurt you just so you could help me?”

Abby’s lips twitched. It was a shame she could never let Marcus know about her visitor; he’d said nearly the same thing, and any indication he shared a worldview with one of the grounders would undoubtedly stick in his craw. Silently, the grounder in question raised an eyebrow and cocked her head, clearly waiting for an answer.

“I…” Abby sighed, amusement fleeing and leaving behind only exhaustion. “It was the right thing to do, enemy or not. Marcus might think torture is justified, but I don’t.” _And because he might not have stopped there_ , she privately allowed, something in her chest twisting at the thought of the proud woman in front of her coming to nothing more than another spray of red on white.

The object of her thoughts studied her as if she could hear them, confusion twisting her features. She tilted her head, eyeing her like Abby was some unknown wild animal she stumbled across and didn’t know if she needed to be threatened by: an equal mixture of wariness and fascination. It made her skin itch but Abby forced herself not to fidget under the weight of her stare, meeting it measure for measure. Finally, the grounder nodded. The sharp, decisive slash seemed to mark some rubicon, because her gaze gentled to something nearing friendly. “Thank you. I owe you a debt.”

“You don’t owe me anything.”

“My people take sparing a life seriously, _Abigail kom Skaikru_.”

 _Skaikru_. Abby mouthed the unfamiliar word, the feel of it on her lips odd. “Abby, please.” When the grounder only nodded silently, she prodded, “You know my name. If you insist on repayment, I’ll take your name.”

“It doesn’t work like that. A name for a life isn’t a fair trade. Another life is the only way to wipe it clean.” Abby only shrugged in reply, and the woman sighed, jaw clenching in aggravation before she gave in. “It’s Echo.”

“Echo,” Abby repeated, not bothering to hide her satisfaction at winning out. “Thank you.”

“Mm,” she grunted in acknowledgement, then pulled a small jar out of her satchel and jerked her chin at the cot. “Turn over. This will help with the pain.”

Abby only hesitated for a moment before carefully laying back down. If Echo wanted to kill her, she would have done it earlier, and their own anesthetics need to be saved for cases far more critical than her own. The sharp-sweet scent of mint and something earthier hit her nostrils seconds before fire bloomed across her back, followed by a blessed wave of numbness, like she’s been doused in snow. Each stroke of a hand over her skin brought the same, until the burns faded into a much more manageable ache and Echo deemed her suitably covered in the thick paste.

She pulled her hands back and Abby turned her head to the side, propping her chin on her hand in order to more comfortably look the other woman in the eye. An odd tranquility infused the moment despite the circumstances.

“It does feel better. Thank you.”

Echo dipped her head, hands flashing in the dim moonlight as she wiped them off briskly on her thighs. “It speeds healing, as well.”

“What’s in that, other than the mint? If I can start to augment our supplies with things I can replenish, it would help.”

“Bark from the white trees near the river. Honey, oil from a purple flower that grows near the hot springs. Some of the preserving liquid we use to keep food from spoiling.” She rattled off the ingredients, carefully blank in a way that made Abby think even this smallest betrayal went against the grain. “A healer would know if there’s more, I didn’t make it myself.”

The purple flower might be anything, but the vinegar was easy enough to puzzle out. “That’s more than enough to get me started.”

“I’ll leave the rest.” She nestled the jar in one of Abby’s boots, tucked just out of sight. “It might help you make more.” She frowned, indecision creasing her brow. “Take this, too.”

Abby only caught the impression of startling white before Echo folded her hand around something cold. She stared down at the knife, lips parted in surprise. “...you know, we have weapons.”

“ _You_ don’t. Keep it.”

Oddly touched despite herself, Abby held the knife back out. “I’m a healer myself, Echo. I don’t have weapons because I don’t need them.”

“Keep it,” she insisted, shoving Abby’s hand back towards her chest. “Defend yourself next time.”

“I don’t even know how to use one.” She drew it close to her anyway, fingers tracing the delicate carvings on what she was almost certain had once been a femur. The blade was made of something dark and sharp enough to open the tip of her finger without pain when she chanced a light touch along one edge.

“I’ll teach you.”

Abby blinked. “You’ll…”

Echo lifted her chin, challengingly. “I’ll come back and teach you to defend yourself with it. I need to clear the debt.”

“You’ll get caught.”

Echo smiled with the easy arrogance only allowed to the young, and Abby mentally knocked a half-decade off her age. “I won’t.”

Charmed despite the insanity of her proposal, Abby laughed quietly. “ _I’ll_ get caught.”

“I’ll teach you how to avoid that, too.” She sobered again. “My people won’t stop coming. You need to know how to take care of yourself against more than that stick yours use.”

“It doesn’t have to be like this. I could talk to Marcus, try and convince him to try for peace. We only want to leave your territory and find the rest of our people.”

“My queen would never agree. Not without heavy concessions.”

Abby deflated. “Neither would Marcus.”

“Exactly.” Echo shouldered her bag again and rose up in a swift, easy motion that made Abby nearly weep with jealousy. “Rest. I’ll come back again tomorrow night.”

“You _don’t_ owe me anything, you know.And it would be safer if you didn’t keep sneaking into camp.”

“Rest. If your people find the knife or the salve, say I dropped them when I ran.” She crouched and ducked under the edge of the tent nearest to the treeline before Abby could reply, exiting with the same blast of cold air that had heralded her entrance.

Abby stared down at the knife in her hand and the cut on her thumb, still sluggishly weeping blood. Absently she sucked it clean, mind still on the blade and the woman who gave it to her.

**Author's Note:**

> SOMEDAY I WILL WRITE THIS WHOLE THING it's got all this plot and Azgedan politics and Roan and Nia and Ontari having a weird psychopathic mom-crush on Abby and Kabby+Echo in all permutations possible and an ending that makes me cackle in glee when I think about it and I am a little in love with the whole thing
> 
> but also, life is both busy and bullshit in 2018 and I know I won't have time to write said whole thing anytime soon and so until I clear more of what I already have on my plate, bits and pieces sometimes it shall be.


End file.
